Hermione Granger and the Grail of Freedom
by respitechristopher
Summary: Hermione/Multi. Strange things are happening to Hermione. With the love of her friends and a bit of magic, can she finally realize her lifelong dream? Written for the Great Matriarchal Harem Challenge in the Teachers' Lounge. Mind the genres, please.
1. Coming Home

**Author's Note:** This challenge began, like all wonderfully terrifying things, as the result of a conversation in the Teachers' Lounge. This is written for them, with love.

**Chapter 1: Coming Home**

Hermione Granger buried her face in her hands as she rode in the back of the black cab taking her from Heathrow Airport to her home in Cheltenham. It was dark and rainy outside – too dark to read, leaving her alone with her thoughts – and with a wry smirk at a dreadfully cliché allegory, she noted that the weather matched her mood quite nicely.

Hermione was on her way home from visiting her parents, formerly Dan and Emma Granger, who explained to her in no uncertain terms that they would rather spend the remainder of their days as Wendell and Monica Wilkens, and that they would prefer it if Hermione would re-alter their memories to facilitate their wishes. Dreams of a happy reunion and shared war stories over tea dashed, she did just that, maintaining the same stiff upper lip her father had insisted upon when she'd come home heartbroken during her sixth-year Christmas holidays, after Ron had thrown her off for Lavender.

Ron. Sweet, sweet Ron. Hermione clasped her arms tightly around her torso as she thought of the kiss they'd shared during the battle, and then her throat began to tighten as she remembered the crushed look on his face when she said it just wouldn't work. The look that didn't match the tears welling up in his eyes. The look that cut through his assertion that he'd always be there for her should she need him. "Well," she thought, "I need you now, Ron."

Hermione began to shuffle through her purse for £70 as the driver made the turn off of the A40 into the center of town. After directing him to Pittville Circus Rd., she graciously accepted his help bringing her things into her house, and tipped him an additional £5 for his trouble. She switched on the light, left the luggage in the middle of the foyer, and flopped into an overstuffed armchair in the sitting room, allowing herself to cry for the first time since she'd left Australia.

Three minutes later, Hermione looked up. Through the rain she heard two distinct pops in her backyard. She pulled out her wand and shut off the light switch with a light _repulso_. She then crept towards the French doors that led out to the patio and switched on the floodlights.

"Gah! What is that?! Harry, make it stop, mate!" Ron shouted, completely taken off guard by the bright lights now shining directly into his face.

"Jesus, Ron. You're going to wake the whole neighborhood, you twit. It's a floodlight, probably on a motion detector. Come on, we're probably at the wrong house, anyway."

Hermione, hearing this, left her wand on the dining room table, threw open the back door and ran into the yard, fairly tackling both boys into a tight embrace.

"Not at all, boys," she said through tears. "You're exactly right."

The three old friends stood in Hermione's backyard for several minutes, holding each other tightly. As she began to sob into Ron's chest, Harry moved around to the other side of her, and the two boys enveloped her in the same warm hug. After Hermione was able to catch her breath, she suggested that they might want to come in out of the rain, and they did just that.

Ron guided Hermione over to the sitting room couch, while Harry turned on some lights and put a kettle on the stove.

"Your parents aren't here, are they?" Ron asked. "I guess it didn't go so well, did it?"

"No. Not so good at all, Ron," Hermione answered. "They wanted nothing to do with me. They asked me to take their memories of me back. They said I abandoned them, Ron. They said I sent them away, that I _raped_ their minds! I only wanted them to be safe, Ron. And now they hate me. Or worse – now they don't even know they have a daughter." Hermione once again collapsed into sobs, and Ron held her close. When Harry came in with the tea, and saw what was going on, he set the mugs on the coffee table and helped Ron comfort their oldest friend.

"Well, I suppose I'm now officially the worst hostess in Gloucestershire," Hermione chuckled after she was able to compose herself. "I can't even go five minutes without turning on the water works."

"It's not as though we're exactly guests, though," Harry replied. "I mean, with all that we've been through together, we really don't need to be putting on appearances for each other, do we?"

"I suppose you're right," Hermione said. "But enough of all that. Harry – my god, Harry!"

"What? What is it?" Harry asked, frantically.

"You did not just set those tea mugs straight onto my wooden coffee table, did you?"

"I – you're having me on, aren't you?" Harry asked. This time it was Ron who could barely contain his laughter. Hermione was chuckling, too.

"Well, mostly," she said. "But still – boys, I suppose. There ought to be a spell for getting tea rings out of wood furniture, though, wouldn't you think?"

"I'll ask mum about that when we head back," Ron answered. "There's bound to be, there are spells for every other bloody thing you'd want, right?"

"Are you still staying at the Burrow, Harry?" Hermione asked. "Isn't that a little awkward with Ginny there?"

"No, I'm not," Harry replied. "I'm back at Headquarters. Even with the détente between us, looking at her every day, knowing how I broke her heart – I just can't do that. Plus, well, you know."

"No. What?" Hermione asked.

"Fred."

"Merlin, Harry. You don't blame yourself for that, do you?"

"No, no of course not," Harry replied quickly. "It's just that there's this pall over the place, you know? Every meal, every time I catch Molly's eye, or - Merlin - George. And I know what George is going through; he's trying to grieve, but at the same time trying not to notice that people are looking at him as though he's an amputee. Which, in a way, he is. So, no. I'm not at the Burrow. I was just over there for a bit when we saw your hand on the clock change. Since it was so early, we wanted to come by to see if 'Home' meant here or Australia. I'm glad it meant here, Hermione."

Hermione, who'd been absentmindedly winding her fingers through the loose curls in Ron's hair, gave Harry a watery smile.

"I'm glad it meant here, too, Harry," she said, and rested her head on his shoulder. Ron lay his head in Hermione's lap to allow her to continue playing with her hair.

They sat like that for a few minutes. It was late, and decorum dictated that they had grossly overstayed their welcome. But neither of them wanted to leave, and nothing was said on the matter until Harry's arm began to tingle. He looked over to see Ron fast asleep on Hermione's lap, and made his decision.

"Er, we should probably get going, Hermione," Harry said. "Come on, Ron. It's late."

Ron slowly extricated himself from Hermione's lap, and sat up, shaking the cobwebs from his head. He began to stand when Hermione grabbed his hand.

"Would you boys mind staying here tonight?" she asked. "I - it's just that-"

Harry smiled. "Of course. Ron, why don't you pop on back to the Burrow and leave a note for your mum?" Ron nodded and popped away loudly, just managing not to splinch himself, despite being only half awake. Harry hugged Hermione fondly and kissed her cheek. "We'll be right back," he said, and popped away.

Both boys returned quickly with small overnight bags in tow, and followed Hermione up the stairs.

"Here," she said, when they'd reached the master bedroom. You two can stay in here, I'll sleep in my old room." Harry and Ron looked at each other a bit sheepishly.

"Oh, grow up you two," Hermione exclaimed. "The bed's about six foot wide; you've slept closer than that in Ron's room. I'll be across the hall." Harry shrugged his shoulders and went in. Ron followed suit.

About 3:30 the following morning, Ron saw the light on underneath Hermione's door as he walked back from the toilet. He opened the door slowly, thinking that she'd perhaps fallen asleep with the light on. Instead he found Hermione sitting on the edge of her bed in her pyjamas, looking off into space. He sat down next to her and put an arm around her.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," she replied. "Guess I'm all cried out." Ron nodded in reply.

"D'ya wanna talk about it some more?" he asked.

"No, I don't think so. It's just - it's so final, you know? I mean, they were never the warmest people on earth, and certainly after I started Hogwarts, the relationship was even more strained, but still, they were there. And now... now they'll never be there again. I don't have any other family to speak of, Ron. I'm alone. Andromeda has little Teddy; and even Harry has that horrid aunt and her family. But I have no one.

"You have us," Ron replied, softly.

"And you're lovely, really. But your mum still looks a bit cross at me after you and I didn't work out, Ginny still thinks I'm after Harry, George is nearly always drunk... And as much as I'd love to be one among that wonderful, messy whole, I'm really not."

"We could dye your hair, you know," Ron said.

Hermione chuckled and slapped his arm lightly. "You know what I mean. I didn't grow up there. Molly and Arthur aren't my parents. I'm an honored, beloved guest there - I truly know that your family loves me, Ron - but I'm still a guest."

"I wasn't talking about me family, 'ermione."

"Oh, you mean you and Harry. Well, yes, I mean we've been through so much together, but-"

"But nothin'. It's the three of us against the world, innit? Always has been. And as far as I can tell, that's _stronger _than family."

"Right. Well, why don't you go back to bed, Ron? It's late, you should get some sleep."

"Come with me, then," Ron said.

"What are you on about?"

"Oh, no. I didn't mean anything like that. It's just that maybe if you weren't so alone in here, you wouldn't feel so alone, and you could get some sleep. Besides, 'arry's there. 'ow much trouble could we get into?"

Inside, Hermione was smiling broadly. After her horrific trip to Australia, a bit of comfort from her two favorite boys was exactly what was called for, she reckoned. Outside, however, she remained stoic.

"Oh, very well. I suppose it couldn't hurt."

Ron took her by the arm, switched off the light, and walked her to the room he was sharing with Harry.

"In y'go," he said softly, lifting the covers for her.

"Right. But if I'm not asleep by five, I'm waking both of you up to keep me company.

"Fair play. Go to sleep, then, 'ermione."

Harry woke up around 8:30, and immediately noticed that his head was cradled in the nape of Hermione's neck. He gasped quietly, and then subtly felt for his t-shirt and boxers. When both were present and accounted for, he breathed a small sigh of relief, and got up to shower.

Ten minutes after that, Ron opened his eyes. The first thing he noticed was that his face had somehow wound up in the crook of Hermione's shoulder. The next thing he noticed was that he was cradled in Hermione's arm, and that their feet were intertwined. Slowly, carefully, he rolled out from Hermione's arm, and removed his feet one at a time from her legs. She stirred a bit, and he placed a soft kiss on her forehead.

"Back to sleep, love," he said, and she murmured fondly in response, before rolling over to his pillow, clutching it tightly. Ron slipped his trousers on, and then walked into the kitchen, where Harry was rummaging around the pantry.

"Not a blessed thing in here that isn't beyond its sell-by date," he half-whispered when he saw Ron. "We're right in the middle of town, though. There's got to be something around, don't you think?"

"Right," Ron replied. "I'll go with you, then. Just let me finish getting dressed."

Forty-five minutes later, the boys popped into Hermione's sitting room with three bags of groceries. They walked into the kitchen , putting them on the counter, only to see Hermione sitting at the kitchen table, wand in hand, staring into space, surrounded by broken teacups and saucers.

"Alright then, Hermione?" Ron asked, walking over to his friend and putting a hand on her shoulder.

"No, it's not alright," she replied. "I mean, it is, but it isn't. I woke up more refreshed than I ever have in my life, saw that there was tea already made - thank you, by the way - and I summoned a teacup and saucer, and it flew at me and smashed on the wall. I tried it again - same thing.

"It's my magic, Ron. It's like I can't control it - it's far too strong."


	2. Of Myths and Legends

**Chapter 2: Of Myths and Legends**

Harry already had a dustpan and broom out as Ron sat down next to Hermione.

"Right. I'm sure it's nothing," he said. "I mean, you've just had the shock of your life, haven't you? Your whole system's bound to be a little wonky."

"I'm sure you're right, Ron. It should clear up shortly, I think. Meanwhile, I'll just have to remember to use a bit less power when casting. I'll get used to it."

By midday, the problem had not yet cleared up, and Hermione was still having trouble with household spells. When her condition still hadn't improved by teatime, the boys started to get worried.

"I'm just going to let Mum and them know that I'll be over here for a few days," Ron said. "If your magic's acting all funny, you should probably have some help, you know?"

"Right," Harry said. "I'll just tell Kreacher not to expect me home for the next little bit, too. Kreacher!" Harry called, and the wizened old house elf appeared in Hermione's sitting room.

"Yes, master? Kreacher replied. "Is you coming - You!" he exclaimed upon seeing Hermione, who squirmed a bit under Kreacher's intense stare.

"Right, well, Hermione's magic is acting a bit funny at the moment, so I'm going to be staying here for a few days until it clears up or we find out what's wrong with her. So if you don't mind, would you please pack a suitcase for me and bring it over here?"

"She is not changings back, Master," Kreacher replied. "More than this, I cannot says. I is bringing you back the suitcases. Watch for her, Master. She is very important."

Before Harry had a chance to answer the house elf, there was a quick, but quiet sound of dresser drawers opening and closing. That and a light breeze blowing through the room were the only hints that Kreacher had been back with Harry's clothes.

"Batty old elf," Ron remarked. "Amazing that he's lasted this long, I guess."

"I have no idea what he was talking about," Harry said, "but I'm sure it's nothing. He's become a bit senile in his old age. Sometimes he forgets to put cream in my tea, instead of milk. It's the little things, you see."

"Right," Ron said. "Don't you mind him, Hermione. It'll clear up. I'll be back in a jif with my things."

Three days later, Hermione's condition had still not changed, and the boys accompanied her to St. Mungo's to see if the healers could determine what was wrong with her. The hospital ground to a halt when the three war heroes appeared, and every healer in the place, regardless of specialty, lined up in the VIP wing, making sure they'd one day be able to tell their grandchildren that they once treated the great Hermione Granger, heroine of the Second Wizarding War.

So when it came time to deliver Hermione the terrible news about what they found, it fell to the Chief Senior Healer, Sarah Bellam herself to do the consultation.

"Miss Granger, I'm terribly sorry to tell you this, but we've found absolutely nothing wrong with you. In fact, quite the opposite. Many healers were commenting that they had never seen anyone in such good condition as yourself, ma'am. You're about as healthy as can be, if not healthier."

Harry and Ron looked at each other worriedly. A diagnosis - any diagnosis - would have been preferable to this, but what the healer was suggesting was that -

"So, you don't think this is going away, then? I'm going to be stuck like this?"

"My dear, I simply do not know. The only suggestion I can offer is that you seek out the Department of Mysteries. There is a fellow there, goes by the name of Ephraim. He's working on a test for something that's a bit, shall we say, experimental. Then again, with all you've been through, I doubt the commonplace is terribly common to you, anyway. What he's working on has been shrouded in mythology and rumor since the days of Merlin, so I daren't say it aloud here. But no matter, being who you are and with what you've done, I don't suppose you'll have much trouble getting to see him, will you?"

"Then you're suggesting I go straight away to see this Mr - Ephraim, you said his name was?"

"Yes, that's right," Healer Bellam replied. "But first, would you mind signing this for my granddaughter? She's starting Hogwarts next year, and has talked about nothing so much as growing up to be just like you one day."

Graciously, Hermione signed the bit of parchment that the Healer presented. The three of them signed a separate parchment for the Healer herself, and they flooed directly from Healer Bellam's office to the Ministry Atrium, where they were afforded a VIP escort directly to the Department of Mysteries. From there, a junior Unspeakable escorted them to the Chamber of Magic, where Ephraim was waiting.

"Thank you. You are excused," Ephraim said to the junior Unspeakable, who nodded in recognition and then went about her business, shutting the door behind her with solemnity.

"Very well, then. As you are aware, because you asked for me personally, my name is Ephraim. Now, no less a man than Minister Shacklebolt informed me that the three of you hold the Ministry's highest security clearance, and therefore I am at liberty to disclose to you anything I wish about my work. As this work is extraordinarily sensitive, however, I would ask that you keep amongst the three of you anything you hear in this room. Is that clear?"

The trio nodded their heads, and for the first time since early May, they felt more than a bit intimidated by their surroundings.

"Now, Miss Granger, Healer Bellam told me some about your condition, and I believe the problem you are experiencing isn't a problem at all, but rather an enlargement of your Magical Core."

"My what?" Hermione said, laughing. "My Magical Core? Right. Next thing you're going to tell me is that I must use the Force to control it. Am I on the wireless or something? Is this a joke?"

Ephraim let Hermione's line of questioning run its course before he continued. "Not at all, Miss Granger. In fact, knowledge of the Magical Core is something we in the Mysterious disciplines have had since the 7th Century. Up until the Enlightenment, magical children were often tested for the size and strength of their magical cores. Those with smaller cores were left in the woods to die. So, beginning in 1792, all public testing of Magical Cores stopped, and anyone who was caught performing that test was immediately sent through the veil without trial. A government could enact drastic measures like that in the 18th Century."

"Alright," Hermione replied. "Then why is it a myth today? Why isn't the concept of a Magical Core simply ignored or unheard of?"

"Because people are going to ask themselves - and each other, for that matter - why some witches' and wizards' spells have more potency than others. It was easier to encourage the populace to create mythology, rather than have to answer awkward questions every few generations when someone figured it out. This way, when a scientifically-inclined person does discover the Magical Core, they will be branded a crackpot, and the idea will be summarily dismissed."

Harry was stunned. "But - but that's blatant, naked manipulation of the people!" he protested.

Ephraim smiled as one would to a five year old who was told he couldn't have a candy bar. "My dear boy," he said, "what is it that you think the purpose of Government is?"

Harry had no answer for this question. Ephraim continued.

"So it is my hypothesis, Miss Granger, that something has affected your Magical Core, and it has spontaneously enlarged itself. Now, obviously, we do not have earlier records of previous Core tests, but perhaps we may use your friends here as a control. Now, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley? Have either of you experienced the same change in your magic? Or any change over the last week, for that matter?"

Seeing both boys shake their heads, Ephraim continued.

"Well then, Miss Granger, compared to your friends here, how would you rate your magical potency before the change?"

"Harry's has always been much more powerful than mine - more powerful than anyone I've ever met, actually. Ron's was closer, but still a bit stronger. I always relied on my intellect more than raw power."

Ephraim smiled. "If the stories are to be believed, Miss Granger, I would expect nothing less. Now, Mr. Weasley, you're up first. Please lie down on the examination table, and I will examine your magical core.

Ron did as he was asked, and Ephraim became a blur of activity. Runestones were activated, silver and gold implements whirred along, and Ephraim's wandwork was so quick that his hands were nearly invisible. Ninety seconds later, Ephraim came to a stop, and helped Ron down from the table.

"Thank you, Mr. Weasley. Now, based on the most recent data we have, the size of your Magical Core is 1.2 sigma above the mean, and its strength is 2.3 sigma above. Excellent, Mr. Weasley. You must exercise your Core often."

"Yeah," Ron said, sheepishly. "I've got a bit of magic in over the last year or two, you might say."

"Of course," the Unspeakable replied. "Mr. Potter, you're next. Up you go."

When Ephraim finished the examination, he let out a low whistle.

"My goodness. I've heard the legends, sir, but this is quite remarkable. Six full standard deviations above the mean both in size and strength. Truly, those are once in a generation numbers."

True to form, Harry sheepishly looked towards the ground. Hermione thought she heard him mutter "I had a lot of help," but she wasn't entirely sure.

"Very well, up you go, Miss Granger."

After Hermione's test was finished, Ephraim looked puzzled. "No, no. This can't be right. Let me try this again," he said, and began the test over. After he'd run the Core test for the third time, getting the same result each time, he helped Hermione down from the table.

"Miss Granger, your results are simply extraordinary. Your scores both for size and strength of core are in the top one-tenth of one percent of every witch and wizard who took this test between 684 and 1736. I have never seen numbers this high, nor do I expect to again in my lifetime. Miss Granger, if, as you say, your magical potency was behind both Mr Potter and Mr Weasley, then something has dramatically altered your core. I have no way of knowing what it is, I have no way of knowing whether it's dangerous or whether it will reverse itself eventually, but my suggestion is that you learn to adjust. Now then, we will, of course, be launching a comprehensive study of your condition over the next few months, as -"

"No you won't," Hermione answered.

"Pardon me?"

"You will not use my Magical Core or any other part of me as a laboratory experiment. Whilst I appreciate your dedication to science, I simply will not allow myself to become your subject."

Ephraim was flustered. He had expected Hermione to jump at the chance to be a part of such a groundbreaking study.

"The Department is prepared to generously compensate you for your time, Miss Granger."

Hermione scoffed. "No it isn't. The Ministry is nearly bankrupt, Hogwarts is still in ruins, there are more prisoners than Aurors - certainly you have better things to spend a taxpayer's Galleon on than compensating me for my time as a guinea pig in an experiment I have no desire to be a part of." Hermione saw his puzzled look, but ignored it. "Now, sir, if there is nothing further, we will take our leave."

Hermione turned on her heel and walked out of the Chamber of Magic, her super-powered _alohomora_ turning opening the vault-like door with ease. As Ron and Harry followed behind her, Ephraim grabbed Ron's arm to talk to him.

"You'll talk to her, son, won't you?" he pleaded. "Make her see reason, I'm sure this was just a rash decision that -"

"Are you mental?" Ron asked. "She said she didn't want to be a part of your wonky experiment, so she's not going to be. She's a grown woman and a war heroine, and you would do well to treat her as such. Meanwhile, we're leaving."

The Trio made their way to the 9th floor elevators and down to the lobby, and from there they flooed to the Leaky Cauldron for tea. It was one of the few places they could go in Diagon Alley without being assaulted by 'well-wishers' at every turn. Tom ran a tight shift, and their classmate Hannah Abbott's DA-trained wand ensured that nothing got out of hand. In addition to Hannah, Tom had also purchased a house-elf, Globo, who cleaned the dishes and dusted the light-fixtures seemingly in the same breath. But when Globo saw Hermione, he stopped cold in his tracks.

"Yous!" he said, pointing. "Yous the one that's talked about!"

"Well, we had a lot of help, you see," Hermione said, apologetically, "and -"

"Yous the one the Seeing Elf said - No!"

And with that, Globo fell to the floor, clutching his chest. Hermione jumped up and felt for a pulse. Noting that there wasn't one, she began CPR, hoping against hope that Elven hearts were in the same general location as Human ones. After ten minutes she began to tire, and after twelve minutes her arms could barely move. She rested her head on the house elf's chest, and pictured him alive again, and free, and she began to cry softly for the life he wouldn't have. A dome of soft lavender light became visible around Hermione and Globo. As hat dome became more intense, and the light shifted colors to magenta, then blue, then green, then yellow. And when it got to white, the light became very bright indeed, and then all at once disappeared.

Globo began to cough, and Hermione looked at him in surprise before hugging him tightly.

"Easy there, Hermione," Ron said. "You just brought him back to life; you don't want to go suffocating him again, do you?"

Hermione chuckled. "No, I don't suppose." She got up from the floor and, feeling quite faint, sat down quickly.

"Oh my," she said. "That took a lot out of me. Didn't even know I was doing it, to be honest." And at that, she put her head on the table and passed out. Globo snapped his fingers, and at once, he, Hermione, Harry and Ron were in the master bedroom back in Cheltenham, Hermione laid out on the bed, and the two boys and the house elf standing next to her.

An hour and a half, and one sparkling clean house later, Hermione awoke to find the boys playing Exploding Snap in the sitting room, while Globo was in the kitchen, biding his time.

"Oh, Mistress is being up now," he exclaimed, latching himself onto Hermione's leg and startling the still groggy young woman. When they heard this, Ron and Harry made their way to the kitchen to check on their friend.

"Hello, Globo," Hermione said, gingerly peeling the elf's hands off her leg. "How are you feeling?"

"Oh, I is feeling fine, Mistress," he replied. "I is cleaning yous house, and it is clean now. Food is in cold machine, and tea is warm."

"Oh, some tea would be lovely," Hermione said, and she didn't get the words all the way out of her mouth before Globo had a cup and saucer with tea, and milk and sugar at the ready.

"Globo is sorry he isn't knowing how Mistress takes her tea," Globo said. "Globo iz baking his feets now."

"Globo! No. Please don't do that," Hermione said. "And please don't call me 'Mistress,' either. It's disturbing. My name is Hermione. And while I appreciate all that you've done here, don't you think you'd better get back to Tom and Hannah?"

Globo shook his head vigorously. "No, Mistress Herminnynee, I is not going back to Tom. Yous saved Globo's life. Globo is yous house elf now."

Ron and Harry could barely contain their laughter. Hermione was red with embarrassment, and more than a little amused at the irony of the situation herself.

"Not a word, you two," she said to the boys. "Not a word."


	3. Together

**Chapter 3: Together**

Ron and Harry stayed with Hermione that night, and into the next day. Their sleeping arrangements had not changed over the four days, and the Trio had found themselves during that time living in an easy familiarity, finishing each other's sentences, and making plans seemingly telepathically. But with the arrival of Globo, the boys' reason for staying with Hermione was no longer applicable. After lunch, with heavy hearts, Harry and Ron each came to the conclusion that it was time to go home.

"So, you're doing well then, Hermione?" Ron asked. "I mean, you've got Globo here, and you're starting to get the hang of the extra magic boost there..."

"Of course, Ron," Hermione answered. "You're welcome to stay, of course, but I believe everything here is under control. Tell your mum I said hello, will you?"

Ron gave Hermione a fond kiss on the cheek, and went to pack his things.

"Well then, I -" Harry stammered.

Hermione smiled. "It's OK, Harry. Really. I'm sure Kreacher misses having someone to tidy up after."

Harry nodded, gave Hermione the same fond kiss on the cheek, and joined Ron in gathering his belongings. When they were done, hugs were exchanged, promises were made to contact each other if anyone needed anything, and Harry and Ron popped away to their respective homes.

* * *

Kreacher greeted Harry in the foyer with a low bow, and brought Harry's belongings to the master bedroom. Harry climbed the stairs to the sitting room, and grabbed the latest edition of Quidditch Quarterly up off of the coffee table. Unbidden, Kreacher put a pot of tea on the table and poured Harry a cup. There were no stories in the magazine that interested Harry, so he asked Kreacher to bring him that day's Daily Prophet. He reflexively checked the scores in the Quidditch section, only to remember that it was summertime, and the season had been cancelled the year prior, thanks to the war. In the main section of the paper, there were the usual stories of the heroic rebuilding effort, which bored him to tears, but a human interest piece on Goblin-Wizard relations after the restoration of Gringotts caught his eye. Hermione, of course, had always had an interest in bringing equality to the various magical species, and Harry began to wonder why she wasn't leading this effort. She'd be brilliant at this, as much as she was at anything she set her mind to. But that was the only such article in the paper, and he quickly grew bored of the rest of it.

Harry walked over to the wireless, thinking perhaps a radio show would give him something to do. Alas, there were no dramas, only a Celestina Warbeck biopic on one station, a Weird Sisters discography discussion on the second, and the third station was entirely devoted to Centaur love songs, which usually were absolutely maddening, but suddenly made sense to Harry. The way he and Ron had known exactly when to find Hermione, after all, seemed as though it were written in the stars, and while the three of them were together in Cheltenham, it did seem as though there was an impenetrable forest separating them from the rest of the world. And, though he'd rather he hadn't made this particular connection, to Harry it did seem as though looking in her eyes he saw the Heavens themselves, and lying in her arms felt like a peaceful glade in Summer.

"This is ridiculous," Harry mused aloud. "I've never thought about Hermione this way." He thought about making a list of all of the various ways that thinking about Hermione in even the vaguest romantic way was a dreadful idea, but then realized that that was precisely what she would do.

"Right," Harry said aloud, "a trip to the cinema should clear my head." He apparated over to the trees behind the parking lot at the Guildford 8; a theater that had become his favorite for many reasons, not the least of which was that his Aunt and Uncle would go there regularly with Dudley and without him.

"Armageddon," Harry said, looking at his options on the ticket board, "Saving the world - been there, done that. Saving Private Ryan? I think I've had enough war for a while. Truman Report - about a man whose life is actually a TV show. Cuts a bit close, actually. Huh. Something about Mary. Looks like a broad farce, slapstick, juvenile comedy. Probably just what I need."

About 45 minutes into the film about three men all trying to date the same woman, Harry began to feel as though he couldn't sit there one more moment. He popped over to the center of Guildford, thinking he might get himself a drink to calm his nerves. He considered a cider, but that just made him think about the West Country, which made him think about Hermione, so he had a lager instead. As he drank his beer, however, he noticed all of the couples without much of a thought. But when he saw a woman surrounded by three of her male friends, his mind went back to that halcyon time in Cheltenham, and he gave up on trying to put his childhood friend out of his mind. Gulping down the rest of his drink, he walked into an alley behind the pub and apparated straight into Hermione's sitting room.

* * *

Ron arrived in front of the Burrow, about halfway between the orchard and the house. He walked up to the kitchen door, thinking he was happy that his parents had never installed one of those light things that had nearly blinded him at Hermione's. Walking in the door, he acknowledged his mother's quizzical look with both a kiss and a promise to be thoroughly debriefed after he'd put his things away. He got to his room, laid down, and his mind immediately drifted to the nights he, Hermione and Harry had spent sharing a bed. Even though he'd been one of seven children, he'd never had to share a bed before. Waking up next to Hermione – her hair in his face, the vaguely astringent smell of her face soap, the warm feeling of her arm around him before she woke up – was one of the most pleasant experiences in his life. Sure, he'd thought of her often at Hogwarts, but nothing could compare him for the sense of peace and comfort he experienced every morning.

Ron jumped up from his bed. "No," he said aloud, surprising himself. "This has been dealt with already. She said she wasn't interested in pursuing a relationship, and that's that." He reckoned that the talk he needed to have with his mother would quench any of the less than platonic thoughts he was having about his life-long friend, and walked back downstairs to the kitchen.

"Ronald," Molly said, "how have you been? There have been rumors about some very upset people in the Department of Mysteries, and your three names are part of those rumors."

"I'm fine, really, mum," he replied. "And I don't know anything about upset Unspeakables. And if I did, well, that's why they call them Unspeakables, what?"

"Well, be that as it may, I want you to be careful, understand? War heroes or no, you don't want to go about making enemies in the Ministry. They can make your life very uncomfortable. Enough about that, though. How is dear Hermione? How is she coping with her parents staying in Australia?"

"Oh, she's fine," Ron replied. "She's not crying at night so much – even sleeping right through now – er, um. Not that I'd know, or anything."

"Of course not, dear," Molly said with a wry smirk. "Wherever would I get such an idea? You just watch that she doesn't break your heart again. We love her to death here, she's nearly one of the family, after all, but the way you looked after she ended things with you before she left, well, I don't want to see a look like that on any of my children."

"It's not like that, Mum, really," Ron said. "It's – well, it's different. I can't really explain it, but it's different. We're friends again, the way we used to be when we were kids, but somehow it's more. It's deeper, like. I can't really – I just don't know how or why, but it's different. And better. It's…"

The more Ron tried to explain what his relationship with Hermione was like, the more he struggled to do so. It was almost as if he'd been hit by a tongue-tying curse, except that he was able to talk about the subject generally. Finally, after two or three minutes of stumbling through his words, Ron got up from the table.

"You know what, mum? I'm going to go have a fly, maybe that'll clear my head."

And for a while, it did. Ron flew over the trees, getting a good look at the Burrow's roof – something that the reward money had been able to fix. He zoomed around the orchard, dodging trees as if they were bludgers, pretending he was Galvin Gudgeon on the Snitch's tail. Then he reminisced back to his days on the Gryffindor team; how much Hermione had cheered for him to win the starting Keeper spot, how horrible he'd been to her with Lavender at the party after the opening match of 6th year, how she'd forgiven him and they moved on. The trees had nests, tucked high away from predators and prying eyes, and Ron felt as though he recognized that place at Hermione's in Cheltenham. He mused on this for a moment, before grunting in frustration and flying back down.

"Not. Working," he grumbled, putting his broom in the shed and stomping back inside.

Ginny found him steaming by himself in the sitting room, and was worried. Certainly, Ron was no stranger to mood swings, but she thought that living without having to stop a mad dark wizard that's trying to kill everyone for the first time in four years might have lightened him up some.

"Hey there," she said, softly as she took a seat opposite him on the sofa.

Ron jumped, startled, but composed himself. "Hey yourself."

"Why are you so mopey?" Ginny asked. "Cannons sign another 45-year-old?"

"No, it's just – I don't know why I came back here, Gin," Ron replied.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it was just so nice being over at Hermione's, you know? She has a place of her own, now that her parents decided to stay in Australia, and when all three of us were there, it was kinda like our little secluded holiday spot. It was just us. And now I'm back, and it's like, why am I here?"

Ginny chuckled softly, and let out a low whistle. "You've got it bad, brother."

"Huh?"

"Oh, come on," Ginny scoffed. "You've been crazy about Hermione since at least your fourth year, you finally get a chance with her and it blows up, and you see a bit of a window here, and now you want to start playing house? That would be a little creepy if it weren't so bloody adorable. But if Harry's in on this, too, you'd better get over there before he steals your girl."

"Wait, no, Gin. It's not like that at all. I mean, if Hermione wanted to start dating Harry, it'd be fine by me, as long as I'd still get to be there, and - wow, that came out wrong, didn't it?"

Ginny sat there, looking at her brother, eyes wide with shock.

"You get your mind out of the gutter. That's not what I mean, either. It's just – you know, I can't even describe it." Ginny still sat there, looking at him mutely, trying to form words to ask him exactlt what he did mean.

Ron then sighed loudly. "Right. I'm off, then."

"Where are you going?" asked Ginny.

"Where do you think? This is mad, just moping about in the house like this. Let mum know, will you? I've got to go." And with that, Ron walked out of the Burrow, past the wards, and apparated right into Hermione's sitting room.

* * *

After the boys had apparated away, Hermione let go a melancholy sigh. The house – her house, now – hadn't been this empty since she'd first set down her bags coming back from Australia. Suddenly, the house that had seemed so stifling when she was unable to legally use magic there seemed cavernous. She felt as if she were to make a noise, it would echo for days. So, with another ponderous sigh, she got up from the table, grabbed the book she'd been reading on the airplane, and took a seat on the couch. Unfortunately for her, she only had thirty five pages of that book left, which managed to take up an entire eighteen minutes. After sitting for a moment or two, pondering the clumsy ending the author left her with, she decided to turn on the television. Alas, it being Saturday in England…

"Football. Football. Football. Why am I being made to care about the bloody football? England aren't going to win the World Cup this year, either. Oh, here's a change. Cricket. Honestly. You'd think Ron was the one to select the programming. I imagine he'd feel right at home on a Saturday, watching the football. I wonder if Dean ever taught him the game. He'd be mad for it, of course. Harry, too, if his horrid family had ever let him watch a match."

Hermione switched off the television and slumped on the couch.

"Globo?" she called after a few moments.

"Yes, Mistress?" he replied, appearing by her side.

"Globo, could you be a dear and make us a pot of tea? I'd like to ask you something."

Seven seconds later, a pot of perfectly-steeped tea and two cups sat on the coffee table, along with an overly-efficient house elf.

"Why don't you have a seat, Globo?" Hermione asked. "There are a few things I'd like to ask you."

"If Mistress wants to ask Globo why her magic is funny, Globo will tell her, but then Globo will die again. Globo did not like dying the first time, Mistress."

Hermione grumbled and put her face in her hands.

"If that is being all, Mistress, Globo gets back to polishing attic floor. Very dusty and scratchy. Last house elf was bad, lazy house elf, Mistress. Glad yous has me."

Hermione nodded her head with her hands still over her face and sighed.

After a cup of remarkably good tea, Hermione decided to go for a walk down to the church. After the third well-meaning neighbor stopped to offer their condolences (Hermione's backstory was that her parents were killed in an auto accident while on an extended tour of India), she decided that apparition would be a better way to travel. So she popped over to All Saints, thinking that if anything could get her mind off of her loneliness, it would be the large church that inspired so much awe as a little girl. Quietly and reverently, she walked through the Nave and up to the Sanctuary, admiring the Rood screen and the statuary. Unfortunately, a 130-year-old church doesn't change all that often, and Hermione wound up visiting a few favorite statues, running her fingers along the wooden pews, and walking right back out, apparating home from the loo off the side of the Narthex.

Returning home, Hermione decided that the best thing to do would be to start trying to figure out how her magical core got so enlarged. She pulled out a pad of paper and began to write.

"When: Right after returning home from Australia. Where: In my parents' old bedroom. What: Sleeping," she sketched, and put down her pen.

"Sleeping," she thought. "The most restful night's sleep of my life. Nestled between my two favorite people on earth. Actually, I think that's the first time we've done that. Why did they have to leave? This house felt like a home while my boys were here, now it's just so empty. Ugh."

Hermione sat on the sofa, head in hands, and her elbows on her knees. She was short of breath, wasn't sure whether to cry or scream; all she knew was that she needed her boys to return. Suddenly, a soft "pop" sounded in the sitting room, and before he had a chance to say hello, Hermione rushed onto Harry, clutching onto his face, kissing him passionately and with such force that Harry's head would have snapped backwards had Hermione not had a firm grasp of him. After taking a moment to get his bearing, Harry returned the kiss with equal fervor, running his fingers through her hair and pulling her closer to him. After a minute or two, there was another soft "pop," and Ron appeared about four feet from his friends. Hermione broke away from Harry, and greeted Ron the same way, attacking his mouth and face with hunger and need.

Slowly, Hermione broke away from Ron as well, and collected herself. Ron and Harry looked at each other quizzically a moment, and then shook their heads with a chuckle.

"Pity," Hermione said, after watching the unspoken conversation between the two boys. "Still, what in Merlin's name was that? One moment I'm thinking how I can't go another second without my boys here, the next moment you're here, and I'm attacking the both of you. This is odd, very odd. Not unpleasant, mind. No, far from unpleasant," she added, blushing slightly, "but still odd."

"Right. That's who we are, then, I suppose," Ron said, softly. "Your boys, I mean. I could barely sit still once I got home. Tried flying to clear my head, but I couldn't think about anything but wanting to be back here, with you. It was – yeah, odd's the best word for it, I reckon. Different than when we were together, you know. I mean, I thought about you all the time then, too, but this is… different. Stronger, but different."

"I had the same thing," Harry added. "Everything I did reminded me of you, Hermione. I tried going to the cinema, but everything they had playing made me think of our time fighting Voldemort or just of you. Reading the Prophet gave me the same thing. And the Wireless was just hopeless. Hell, I couldn't even go to the pub without thinking about you, which is when I came back. Kreacher's probably wondering where the hell I am."

"Kreacher is wondering nothing, Master Harry," Globo said, appearing out of thin air and startling all three. "Kreacher is knowing, as is Globo. As is all the house elfs. We is all knowing."

"Wait – 'Master' Harry? Why did you just call me that?" Harry asked. Globo put a long pointer finger up to his lips and popped away again.

"Right," Hermione said. "We know a couple of things, I gather. First, this thing with my Magical Core started happening around the time I got back from Australia, but not until the three of us began sharing a bed, which, incidentally, was the first time we'd done that. Secondly, the house elves are acting very strange indeed around us with all this cloak and dagger nonsense. Thirdly, this – this bond, I guess you could call it, seems to be related to both of these things. I suggest we begin researching just what in the hell has happened to us, and how we stop it."

There was some uncomfortable silence among the three of them before Ron spoke up.

"Do you really want to?" Ron asked, grabbing Hermione's hand. "I mean, I rather like the idea of being yours, you know? Not like it was before, just, well, I can't explain it. But it seems right, somehow, being yours."

Hermione looked over at Harry, who was biting his quivering lower lip and nodding gently. "Is that true then, boys?" she asked. "I couldn't help but dream that – oh, boys!" she exclaimed, tears flowing from her eyes. She pulled Harry and Ron to her, each with one arm, and the trio stood there for what seemed both like hours and moments, just holding each other.


	4. Closer Still

**Author's note:** And here's where go from a "T" to an "M". Not gratuitous, but still pretty lemony-fresh. If that sort of thing bothers you, skip down to about half-way down the page. It's also a bit shorter than the others, but I wanted to keep the publishing momentum moving. Please enjoy!

**Chapter 4: Closer Still**

That evening, Harry had Kreacher move his clothes and a few other possessions into Hermione's place in Cheltenham for good. He knew that their arrangement was one of permanence, and as a family - a real family - was what he had wished for his entire life, he was more than eager to get started living in one.

Ron had to be a bit more circumspect, as he wasn't sure whether his rather conservative mother would appreciate her son 'shacking up' with his 'girlfriend.' And he certainly wasn't going to tell her about the arrangement with Harry, or this 'bond,' as they were calling their connection. While he knew it made sense, given everything that had gone on between the three of them, it was still quite difficult to explain. And while he was eighteen years old, past the age of majority, and certainly legally responsible for himself and his actions, he was quite sure his mother didn't see things that way.

Hermione, for her part, was over the moon with the situation. Now able to control the magic afforded her by her expanded Magical Core, she had never felt quite as at ease in her family home as she felt with Ron and Harry by her side. For years she had endured the quiet disappointment of her parents; whether it was about her grades (four times in her primary schooling she had brought home composition assignments that had received a B or B-), her dress, her lack of suitable friends, or, after First Year at Hogwarts, the amount of time she spent at home. Now there was none of that. She was Queen Regent of her castle, attended by two loving Princes.

In short order, however, one problem became very apparent. Every night she went to bed between two boys; two quite fit boys with lean, tautly muscular physiques, who, as it was summertime, slept in nothing but their shorts. She woke up every morning with her head rested on one rock-hard chest or another, staring at rippled stomachs whose lack of body fat defied belief. Occasionally she would find herself running her fingers across the contours of those stomachs as the boys slept, and she began to ache to touch them with her whole hand, to feel their muscles give and tighten as she rubbed her hands and face on them. She dared not touch herself to relieve this ache, as she feared waking her boys, but the tension building inside her was nearly unbearable.

One particularly warm, late May morning, Hermione woke snuggled next to Ron, and began to run her fingers across his chest. With nothing but a light sheet covering them, it soon became apparent that the sleeping Ron was enjoying this as much as she was, and this was where she broke. Gently, she peeled the sheet off of him, to find his erection had poked straight through the fly of his shorts. Without so much as a thought, she held it in her hand, and slowly brought her head down, taking him into her mouth. Ron's sleepy groans gave her more confidence, and she bobbed her head up and down his shaft with more abandon. When she felt Ron's fingers wind their way through her hair, she looked up, smiled at him, and placed a finger over his lips, nodding her head toward the still sleeping Harry, before getting back to the task at hand.

As she felt Ron's hips begin to buck, Hermione lifted her head off of him. She carefully slid his shorts off of his hips, tossing them to the floor. She removed her own nightshirt and knickers, and tossed them to the floor as well. With a feral grin, Hermione straddled the boy, guiding him inside her. She slowly rocked back and forth, sliding up and down his entire length. Ron placed his hands over her breasts and began to knead them, which she found distracting. Without breaking rhythm, Hermione grabbed his wrists, pinning them over his head. Wandlessly, she bound them there with a soft _Incarcerous_. As Ron began to protest, she summoned her knickers off of the floor, slapped his face, and stuffed the pants into his mouth. The surprise in his eyes was evident, but the motion of his body underneath hers told her that he didn't mind the rough treatment one bit.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw movement. Turning her head, she saw that Harry was awake, and if the motion of his hand was to be believed, he was thoroughly enjoying the show she and Ron were putting on. Eyes flashing, she looked at Harry sternly.

"Don't you dare finish that, Potter," she said. "You're next."

And so he was.

Hermione awoke first, tousle-headed and smiling, humming along to a song that was going through her head. She walked over towards the stove to put on a kettle, when she nearly jumped out of her skin as Globo appeared next to her.

"Yous be sitting now, Mistress Hermione," Globo said. "I can makes this quicker and better, and I is your elf."

Allowing that this was certainly the case, Hermione did as she was told, and thirty seconds later was rewarded with a pot of perfectly brewed tea. Globo paused after pouring the tea into a cup for her (all three of them grew used to black tea during their time in the forest, and by then prefered it that way), and smiled mischievously.

"Is different now, Mistress. Is better. Yous is seeing."

"Well I certainly hope you're not talking about the tea, Globo," she replied, dryly. "And I don't suppose you're going to let on what you are referring to, either, are you?"

Globo grinned and shook his head in response.

"Well then, I'll just have to be surprised. Meanwhile, would you mind putting on some breakfast? The boys are awake, and quite hungry."

Hermione reached for her tea, and paused for a moment, thinking about what she'd just said. She rationalized that she knew the boys would be hungry because of that morning's activities, and she must have heard them stirring. She took a sip, gently put the cup down, and rubbed the bridge of her nose, frowning. She looked up at Globo who was smiling gleefully.

"So, this is...?" she asked.

Globo nodded.

"And I knew this because...?"

Globo nodded again.

"And this happened because we...?"

Globo winked, and in a flash a full English breakfast was on the table, and he was gone.

As predicted, Ron and Harry walked downstairs a moment after that. Each kissed her on the cheek, and took their seats at the breakfast table, digging in immediately. A very hungry Hermione did likewise. After she had gotten a few bites into her, Hermione informed the boys of the latest developments.

"Well, it turns out our round of morning sex brought me a brand-new superpower," she sighed. "Now, while I can't exactly read your thoughts, I am now innately aware of where you are and what you're feeling, and no, Ron, we're not going back to bed just yet."

"Wait, you heard that?" Ron asked.

"No," Hermione replied, "it's just that you're randier than a cat in heat, and your eyes are trying very hard to remove my t-shirt."

Ron smirked and lowered his head, blushing through his smile.

"We'd already sussed that out, actually," Harry said. "Looks like you're not the only one affected by this. I could tell you were at the kitchen table, and you went from sleepy and satisfied to resigned at one point." Ron nodded in agreement.

"Can you read each other's thoughts, then?" Hermione asked.

"No," Harry replied. "Just yours. Although I'd've guessed that about Ron, too. Just on general principle."

"Hey now," Ron protested. "That's not - oh, actually, yeah. That's probably fair."

"Again, this isn't unpleasant, necessarily," Hermione said, smiling. "It's just a bit unexpected. And it will take some getting used to." Getting up from her seat and sitting on Ron's lap, she continued. "And knowing just how randy you are, Ron, well let's just call that a bonus."

Running her hands through Ron's hair, she kissed him passionately, as his fingernails ran up and down her back.

"Oh my," she said with a grin. "Harry likes to watch, does he?" Harry smiled and nodded, and Hermione crawled off of Ron's lap and onto his.

As Hermione was kissing Harry, Ron noticed an owl tapping on the glass patio door. He grabbed a bit of bacon, opened the door, and took the parchment from its talon.

"Hey," he said, and Hermione and Harry looked up mid-snog. "Looks like we've got a letter here." Harry and Hermione shrugged and got back to what they were doing. A moment or two later, Ron walked over to his canoodling friends and tapped Hermione on the shoulder. "Really," he said, "you should take a look at this."

Hermione took the parchment from him and scanned it. "Oh, for goodness sakes," she said, clearly irritated. "This Ephraim fellow won't stop, will he? I'm to go to the Chamber of Magic at half three this afternoon, where Kingsley himself wants to see me and my wondrous Magical Core. Hopefully he'll at least be able to tell this Dr. Moreau in Unspeakable robes that I'm not some lab animal that he can just run in a cage to see how I'll do. Well, all that said, this is coming straight from Kingsley's office. We should probably go."

"But first...?" Ron asked, expectation pouring from his pleading eyes.

"Oh, I suppose we should have time for more of that. Come along, boys," Hermione answered with a self-satisfied smirk, grabbing both of her smiling boys' hands and leading them back upstairs to the bedroom.


	5. Taking Liberties

**Chapter 5: Taking Liberties**

Hermione's soft, self-satisfied smile quickly faded when she saw Ephraim standing with Kingsley Shacklebolt in the Ministry Atrium after they had apparated in. She took a deep breath, and the three of them walked over to the Minister and the Unspeakable.

"Minister. Unspeakable," she said, tersely.

"Hermione," Kingsley replied, fondly, opening his arms to embrace his former comrade-in-arms. "You've had an exciting summer so far, what?"

"A bit too exciting for my liking, Minister," she replied. "And far too many people seem to have taken an interest in that."

Kingsley paused for a bit, clearing his throat. "Yes, well, about that. You see -"

"Honestly, Kingsley. Cut the crap. You and I have known each other for years, fought together, watched our friends die together. And while I trust you, you have to remember that I've watched the Ministry systematically build up and tear down Harry for years. And I'll be damned if I'm going to go through the same thing myself. We've given up far too much for far too long for this Nation to be controlled by anything or anyone."

Ephraim was taken aback by the familiar and challenging tone Hermione took with the MInister for Magic. Kingsley, for his part, went from friendly condescension to a business-like tone.

"Yes, Hermione," he replied. "But part of the reason we fought that war was to have a fully-functional government free from corruption. A government has various missions, and one of those missions is to explore the boundaries of Magic; to answer questions like why you and two side-alongs were able to silently apparate directly into the Ministry, when there have been wards upon wards since Voldemort's return that should make that impossible. That's precisely why the Department of Mysteries has a Chamber of Magic. And while I cannot, nor will I attempt to force you to go along with Ephraim's testing, I will ask you, as a respected member of society, to allow this particular task of government to continue."

Hermione contemplated this for a moment before giving her answer.

"Very well. But I get final approval over what I will do and what will be tested." Looking at Ephraim, she steeled her expression. "I am not your lab animal, Unspeakable."

"Thank you, Ms. Granger," Ephraim replied. "Perhaps Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley would like to wait in the -"

"No. They come with me," Hermione said, brooking no dissent. "We go together or not at all."

"Yes, of course. Minister, thank you for your help. Ms. Granger, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, would you follow me, please?"

Ephraim, Hermione and her boys took the elevator to the Department of Mysteries, where Ephraim informed the witch at the front desk that no one was to enter the Chamber of Magic, not even Merlin himself. Hermione rolled her eyes at this, but followed him into the chamber. Once inside, Ephraim pointed Hermione towards a glass-enclosed firing range, and asked her to fire her strongest _reducto _at the opposite wall.

"I most certainly will not," she replied. "People on the other side of that wall could be hurt. This is horribly irresponsible."

"Ms. Granger, please. The end of the range is a measuring field, where your magical energy will be absorbed and turned into quantifiable data. No magic will escape, I assure you." Hermione sighed deeply and looked toward the heavens before pointing her wand at the wall opposite her.

"Sounds like a challenge to me," Ron snarked. Harry chuckled along.

"It rather does, doesn't it? Wall cracking in 3...2...1..."

"_Reducto_!" Hermione shouted. And, as one would expect, there was a loud thunderclap in the range, where Hermione's spell had broken through the measuring field, and bits of stone were lying on the floor at the end of the range, where a three inch gouge had been taken out of the wall.

"Oh dear," Ephraim said, shaking his head. "Well, I suppose I had that coming. Yes, perhaps feats of strength are beyond our capabilities to measure right now. Perhaps we can test skill, instead. Ms. Granger, would you mind conjuring a scale model of Hogwarts for us? Perhaps a one to 2 million scale would do."

Hermione sighed, shook her head, and with a lazy wave of her wand, there appeared before them a five foot square model of Hogwarts, complete with lake, forest, and animated students. Looking inside the tiny windows, one could clearly see each classroom, the Great Hall (complete with meteorologically correct ceiling), and fine detail into each portrait and common room.

There were several more tests of this nature, measuring Hermione's capacity in transfiguration, charms, and divination (at which Hermione first scoffed, before seeing that she correctly picked 50 consecutive rolls of six dice). Ron and Harry began to sense her annoyance at the testing, and hoped along with Hermione that this would be over soon.

"Ms. Granger, it appears that you are holding back. Whether this is a result of your disdain for me or my methods, or because you are consciously or subconsciously shielding us from the full weight of your power is irrelevant. However, I do need more data, so now I would like to test how your core itself reacts to stressful situations. If you would please put this vest on over your robes, and enter that room, I have a Boggart that should help us collect all the data we need."

The vest had four long, serpentine tubes about a quarter inch in diameter that hooked into a machine at the side of the testing area. When Hermione buckled the vest close, the machine began to whir, and the tubes expanded to roughly two inches and began to sway around her.

At first, Hermione experienced the feeling as simply odd - a bit ticklish, in fact. It was as if _something _was brushing up against her magic, tentatively, almost waiting for a reaction. Curious, Hermione allowed herself to explore this sensation, and this was precisely the moment of relaxation the _something _needed. There was a sensation of joining, of the _something _moving with her magic out from her core, through to her arms and hands, torso, head - it was everywhere. The _something _wrapped itself in a tight spiral around the tendrils of her magic, in a sensation that was too intense, too forced to be called an embrace, but rather more of a bind. Hermione's eyes began to widen and her heart began to race, and once her magic filled her, and the _something _was squeezing every inch of that magic, it began to search out her magical core. Much like when it started, the _something _brushed lightly against Hermione's core, causing her to jump in surprise. And then, just as quickly, her core was probed from a dozen different angles, all at once. The shock from this assault was all-encompassing, so much so that when the boggart was released, showing her a war-torn plain covered in the corpses of dead house-elves, it barely registered in her consciousness.

Hermione began to scream, but no one outside could hear her, as the room was soundproofed. Ron and Harry, on the other hand, had felt every moment of the _something's _attack, and when they felt Hermione's core being violated, they began to yell at Ephraim to stop the experiment. Finally, when Hermione's terror became too much, Harry shot a strong Reducto at the machine connected to Hermione's vest, and followed it up with _Reductos _to every other machine in the Chamber. Once Hermione was free, the _Riddikulus _with which she nullified the Boggart was so powerful that the case in which it was housed was reduced to smoking splinters, and the Boggart itself was a small, black, gelatinous puddle on the floor.

Ephraim raised his wand arm, and began to point it towards Ron, but Hermione sent another _Reducto _through the glass walls of the testing room, and followed that up with a quick Expelliarmus and an Incarcerous that left Ephraim bound to his chair. The trio began to gather their things, when Ephraim laughed.

"You won't be going anywhere tonight, my dears. That door is two foot thick steel, and warded from here to -"

Ephraim stopped talking when he heard the explosion and saw the trio walk through the six foot hole Hermione had blasted into the steel door. Heads held high, Hermione, Ron and Harry walked through the door's smoldering remains, past a stunned receptionist, and onto the elevator that took them back to the atrium, before walking straight out of the telephone booth, and onto Whitehall. Hermione had nearly made it to the Charing Cross tube station before falling into the embraces of Ron and Harry, shaking and crying.

Supported on either side by both of her boys, Hermione walked into the station, and steered the boys toward a bench, subtly casting a _Muffliato _around the three of them.

"Sometimes I really can't stand this world. Who in the hell ever thought it alright to - to violate someone else's magic like that?" she said, trying to maintain composure. "Honestly. If I didn't think they'd send a bloody search party after us, I'd never go back to Wizarding society. It's positively medieval. No offense, Ron."

Ron chuckled. "None taken. I'd go with you, if I could. I'm afraid I'd be lost out there, though. I mean, look at this. The lights, the noise, the rushing around. We wizards might think we have muggles beat with the magic and all, but they've had to do so much more precisely because they don't have magic to fall back on."

Hermione kissed Ron's cheek as Harry ruffled his hair. "You'd get used to it," Hermione said. "It just becomes a part of you, just like the Wizarding world became a part of Harry and me. You know what? Come on, then. We'll make a real Muggle night of it. We'll go pick out something nice to wear in Carnaby St., then find a restaurant and go dancing in Soho. Besides, it's about time my boys took me out proper, wouldn't you say?"

The boys smiled, and Hermione led them to the Bakerloo line, which they took two stops to Oxford Circus. From there it was a block or two to Soho's Carnaby Street, which they browsed with an air of disappointment.

"Honestly. Nothing but overpriced chains," Hermione complained. "We could have gone to the shopping centre back in Gloucestershire and found the same rubbish. Ooh, but here's something. Boys, this way."

Harry and Ron followed Hermione through a narrow street, no bigger than an alleyway, where there were three very out of the way high-end boutiques, each trying harder than the other to remain unnoticed by those who hadn't set out to find them. One of them appeared to have a decent sized selection of menswear in addition to ladies' clothing, and Hermione walked through there first.

"We'll be closing up in a few minutes," a young woman called from the back. Bemused, Hermione waited for the saleswoman to appear.

"Darling," Hermione replied once the saleswoman was in view, "my boys and I are going to spend several thousand pounds tonight getting completely kitted out. You could close up shop fifteen minutes early, and we could spend that at one of the chain stores in Carnaby Street, or you could let us shop here, and we could let you have a piece of that as your commission. Which would you rather?"

The saleslady forced a smile and welcomed the three them to browse her wares, before locking the door behind them, ensuring that they would be her last customers of the evening. As promised, within half an hour, the three of them emerged from the boutique dressed to the nines in matching greys, blacks and silvers, having banished the clothes they were wearing back to Cheltenham. Hermione in the middle, and the boys having linked arms with her on either side, they paraded down Regent St. for a few blocks before eventually heading east, turning many heads along the way.

On Old Compton St. they found themselves being sat at a table in the front window of a Tapas restaurant, exploring plates of exotic hams, cheeses and quite garlicky cod and shellfish plates.

"Oh, isn't that nice," Ron said, pointing into the restaurant. "That kid there's taking his grandfather out for a bite at a posh place like this."

Hermione looked over, caught a gasp before it was audible, and pushed Ron's pointing finger back into his lap. "I don't think that's his grandson, Ron." she said. "Not with what he's wearing. He may well be the older man's paid escort for the evening," she continued in a hushed voice.

Thankfully, Ron took the cue and kept his voice down as well. "What do you mean by paid escort? Is that like - oh. Oh, right," he said, realization of the financial relationship dawning on him.

"Right," Hermione replied. "So let's just be polite and not stare, alright? I'm sure his position is difficult enough without people gawking at him."

They went back to their meal, but between courses the older man and his younger companion walked towards the exit. The young man's glassy eyes grew wide as he saw the trio, and he steered his client away from them quickly as he walked out the door.

"Was that -?" Harry asked. "Bugger me, that was Dennis Creevy, wasn't it?"

"Reckon you could afford it, mate?" Ron asked, earning a slap on the shoulder from Hermione.

"That's not nice, Ron," she admonished. "I saw it, too, Harry. And you could see he recognized us by the way he scurried out of here. Do you think we should do something?"

"Probably," Harry said. "But not tonight. Tonight is your night, love, and I've had rather my fill of saving people lately. Perhaps tomorrow."

This was generally agreed to, and the three of them left far too much money on the table and walked across the street to the nightclub that had been providing a discordant bass accompaniment to the Spanish guitar music the restaurant had programmed. They were ushered straight in past the velvet rope when they got to the door, and a quickly produced £50 note ensured that escort led them straight to the VIP section. Bottles of vodka were produced and consumed, and the trio made their way to the dance floor, where Hermione held court, grinding and shimmying between her boys until the sweat was evident on all of their foreheads. More drinks were had, followed by more dancing, and by half past two they had had enough, turning more heads as they strutted out the door and back into the early Soho morning.

Looking for an alley where they could sober up magically and apparate home, they once again came across Dennis Creevy, who this time was curled up in a fetal position, bruised and barely breathing. Harry rushed over to him and lifted his face, and was relieved that Dennis was able to reply by opening his eyes slightly and curling the sides of his mouth into the beginnings of a smile. Looking around to ensure there were no Muggles present, Hermione called for Globo and asked him to take Dennis back to Cheltenham where he could heal and sober up.

"Globo could be doing this, Mistress," Globo replied, "but Mistress can be doing this, too. Mistress has magics now like - Mistress has powerful magics now. Little Creevy is being okay. But Globo is sobering Mistress and Masters up first, for being safe."

Once they were sober enough to do so, the boys apparated back home. Hermione picked Dennis up in her arms and apparated the both of them directly to her old bedroom, placing him on her bed and kissing his forehead. He looked so little there, so desperately young in his thin cotton short-sleeved oxford shirt, tight shorts and boots. She took his boots off, and laid a comforter on top of him, as he was starting to shiver.

"He'll be fine, Hermione," Harry said, looking on from the doorway as Hermione tended to her charge.

"How are you so sure?"

"Because Globo said so. And it's been my experience that anyone who speaks that mysteriously is usually right about things like that. Come to bed, darling. It's late."

"But that sobering spell Globo put on us has me absolutely wired," Hermione replied. "I don't know if I'll be able to sleep at all."

"Who was talking about sleep?" Harry asked.


	6. Habits

**Chapter 6: Habits**

Dennis Creevey was used to waking up in strange bedrooms, but not ones this feminine, and he was certainly not used to waking up in strange bedrooms this alone or this clothed. He gingerly eased himself out from under the comforter to see his boots neatly lined up next to the bed. Wincing a bit from his injuries and the pounding in his head, he struggled into his boots, and rummaged through the nightstand for his payment. Seeing none, he tiptoed downstairs, hoping Piotr would take out his disappointment on the john (jane?), instead of on him for coming back empty handed.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, the smell of food nearly made him retch. Holding his head high and gritting his teeth, he was determined to collect his fee and then make his way back to Brixton, as soon as he figured out where in the hell this house was.

"Little Creevey will be sitting down now," Globo said, causing Dennis nearly to jump straight out of his boots.

"Jesus!" Dennis said. "What the hell is - oh, shite. Look, I don't go with you magic types anymore, but if you could tell your master or mistress that I need my 75 quid, I'll be on my way."

"Mistress is being here soon, little Creevey, but youse is sitting down and having breakfast now."

"Right. Look, I appreciate the food, but I ain't hungry and I really need to get back. Just get me my 75 quid and I'll be off, okay?" Dennis replied, his patience waning.

"Youse is sitting down and having breakfast now. Mistress says you is to have breakfast, and Globo is doing what Mistress is asking."

"Yeah, I'll just be going then. Let your mistress know that - what the hell?" Dennis exclaimed upon discovering that he was not only forcibly sat at the breakfast table, but was unable to get up from there.

"Would little Creevey be wanting some tea?"

"That'd be fine," Dennis grumbled in response. "And stop calling me that. My name is Dennis, you daft sod."

Twenty minutes and one cold plate of eggs and sausage later, Hermione made her way to breakfast. Stretching and yawning, she sat down in front of a hot cup of tea, thanked the Creator for giving the tea plant caffeine, and sipped. Opening her eyes, she saw a gobsmacked Dennis Creevey sitting across from her.

"Granger, I don't know what kind of sick shit you have in mind, but the house-elf is going to be extra. A lot extra. And if you're done with me, which I hope to Christ you are, I'll just take my dosh and go. And I'll need that in pounds, if you please."

"Oh, right," Hermione said, her fuzzy brain finally focusing enough to remember the night before. "Dennis. Good morning. Have you had any breakfast? Globo does wonders with eggs, I assure you."

Ron came downstairs as she was talking, kissing her fondly on the lips before sitting down. Harry, who was behind Ron by just a moment or two, followed likewise.

"Oh, Jesus. Alright then, that'll be two-fifty for the lot of you, and double that if you want the house-elf to do anything but watch. Costumes are another fifty; seventy-five if it's a sailor suit. And I don't do no tyin' up, neither, not that I could stop you with those wands and all. Right, what's so funny, then?"

"Dennis, you're not here because we're hiring your services," Hermione explained. "Do you really not remember anything from last night?"

"Are you having me on, then? Last night's a bit fuzzy; I was pretty well mashed. This john took me to Soho - older bloke, 'bout my grandad's age. Real posh looking place for supper, and then - wait. Fuck me, I saw the three of you there last night, didn't I? What, are you trying to save me too, then, Potter? Fat lot of good that did Colin, what?"

"Hey, that's not fair," Harry protested. "I didn't ask him to be there. And McGonagall told all you underage kids to clear off. Not my fault he didn't listen."

"Yeah, well. Oh, sod it all. Look, it's been fun catching up, really, but I should be going. I'm just going to see myself out, then. Hey, why can't I get up?"

Hermione smiled calmly. "You don't have to go back there, Dennis. I don't know how you got there to begin with, but we'll keep you safe until you go back to school."

"Are you mental? You don't know who you're messing with. Piotr has people all over this - where the fuck am I, anyway?"

"You're in Gloucestershire. Cheltenham, to be specific. And Piotr can't find you here, unless he's magical. He's not a wizard, is he?"

"No. I really don't want anything to do with you lot anymore. Even snapped my wand and tossed the bloody thing on the train tracks at King's Cross. This magic shite took my whole fucking family from me, it did. First Dad, then Colin. I've no one back in Pickering, so why the fuck would I go back there? Now, for fuck's sake, let me out of here."

"Alright, Dennis. I'll let you go, if you feel that strongly about it. I understand. Besides Harry and Ron, I have no one, either. Neither does Harry, for that matter. But we have each other. And we have room here for you, too, if you'd like. Here, take 100 pounds. That'll cover your pimp and give you a little extra, if you keep it hidden. I'll side-along you to the rail station, too, and get you a ticket, unless you'd rather walk - but it's about two miles. We don't have a car, so those are pretty much your options."

"I'll take the side-along, I guess," Dennis said. "And, er, cheers for the dosh; that'll help."

"Right," Hermione replied. "But don't go back on the heroin, please. It took a lot out of Globo to get that out of your system. You're not going to have to kick, but we couldn't do anything about the emotional addiction."

Dennis blanched at this, but tried to maintain his cool demeanor. "Right. It was better than feeling, wa'nt it? Anyway, when can we leave? I'll be missed if I don't get back to Brixton."

It was about a week and a half before they heard from Dennis again. In the middle of supper, an owl appeared at the door leading out to the garden, carrying a letter from Headmistress McGonagall, describing a Dennis that was in much worse shape than Hermione and her boys had seen in Soho. He had just appeared one moment outside the gates of Hogwarts; apparently having accidentally apparated there. Madame Pomfrey had fixed him up as best she could, and now he was lying in the Hospital wing, asking for Hermione. The three of them apparated to the Leaky Cauldron and flooed straight into the Headmistress's office.

"How is he, Madame Pomfrey?" Hermione asked. "The Headmistress said he was pretty bad off."

"He looked a sight, that's for certain," Madame Pomfrey answered. "But it was just bruises and a few broken bones. Patched him right up, but that poison in his system is going to take a bit of work. Why the muggles do that to themselves, I'll never understand."

"He said it was better than feeling," Harry answered. "I'll give him that, if I'm honest. He's lost everyone." Harry's pronouncement was met by a thick silence, and the nodding of heads.

"Right then. Let's stop talking about Dennis, and start talking to him," Harry said, after he felt the self-righteousness leak out of the room. He grabbed Hermione and Ron by the elbows and brought them behind the curtains at Dennis's bedside.

"Alright then, mate?" Ron asked. "Madame Pomfrey says you got your arse kicked again. 'zat true?"

"Yeah. Piotr was getting complaints from the johns. Apparently a boy who doesn't fancy blokes doesn't make the best rent boy. Figures. But the worst was the skag. Pomfrey doesn't know the stuff your elf does, Hermione, so I'm lying here sweating my balls off and trying not to shit myself every ten minutes. She says the best thing for it is to let it work itself out, but Christ. This is just killing me."

Hermione sucked her tongue loudly. "What did I tell you about going back on that stuff?" she asked. "Globo when to all that work to -"

"That's plenty, Hermione. I think he gets the idea," Harry said, cutting her off. Hermione put her hand to her lips, trying to physically stop the accusing questions from coming out of her mouth, to little avail.

"So, you wanted to come back up to Gloucestershire with us, have Globo help you kick - again, mind - and then fuck right back off to London? Is that it?" she asked, causing Ron and Harry each to stare.

"No, I mean, I was hoping Globo could help, but mostly... Mostly I just don't want to do this anymore, y'know? So, I mean, if your offer's still open, I'd, er, like to take you up on it."

Hermione sat down on the bed next to him, ruffled his hair, and kissed his forehead. "Of course that offer is still open. I'll let Madame Pomfrey know you're coming home with us. I'm sure she'll be glad to hear it."

Dennis gave the three of them a weak smile, and Hermione walked over to Madame Pomfrey and Headmistress McGonagall to let them know of Dennis's decision.

"That's very kind of you, Ms. Granger," Madame Pomfrey said, smiling. "I'm sure you and the boys will take good care of him."

"Too true," Headmistress McGonagall agreed. "But Ms. Granger - Hermione. Three boys in the house. That's a bit full, isn't it?"

"Oh, it has its advantages," Hermione replied with a wink.

"Ms. Granger!" the headmistress exclaimed, aghast, before the corners of her mouth turned upwards in a subtle, but mischievous smile. Hermione gave her a much broader smile in return, before walking back to her boys.

"So he's here with us now," Ron said, as the three of them settled down with a bottle of elf-made wine after Hermione had put Dennis to bed so that Globo could work on his withdrawal symptoms.

"That's how it looks, Ron," Hermione replied.

"And, does that mean he's going to, er, join in? You know, like Harry and I, with -"

"Good lord, no. First of all, he's what, fifteen? And secondly, with what he's been through the last few months, I doubt he'd want anyone even coming near him. No, we'll take care of him like he's family, but - no. Just - no," Hermione said, shuddering at the thought.

"Right then," Ron replied. "That's settled. Now, we're going to need to talk with you about your language, Hermione..."

Two days later, and with the floo connection finally set up in her house, Hermione received a call from Headmistress McGonagall, who, at first. simply wanted to check up on the rapidly healing and adjusting Dennis. When she brought up Hogwarts, however, Hermione asked her to come through so they could discuss the subject with the entire family. Globo, upon seeing the Headmistress, very quickly brought out tea and shortbread.

"I am well aware that this is far outside the norm, having a nineteen year old woman as a Hogwarts student, but I would appreciate it if you would consider coming back, Hermione. All four of you, as a matter of fact. I am, of course, reaching out to all of the students who, for whatever reason, could not attend Hogwarts last year, or who could not attend classes while they were there. It would mean a great deal, both to society as a whole, and to Hogwarts specifically, if the three most notable heroes of the last war were to throw their support behind a return to normalcy. Certainly you can see this."

"Of course, Headmistress," Hermione replied. "But you also need to understand where we are coming from - at least the three of us, I can't speak for Dennis here. We're no longer children, in any sense of the term. If I'm honest, we haven't been since Dumbledore died, and Harry certainly for much longer than that. My parents are never coming back. Except for Ron, we have no family to come home to; this _is _our family. This is my home; I own it free and clear, and I've rather grown accustomed to making my own decisions."

"We would, of course, be offering you the position of Head Girl," the headmistress offered. "And the faculty have made themselves available to provide you with independent study opportunities."

"And two months ago, that would have been plenty. But I really can't see myself going from my own home back to a dormitory. And Ron, Harry and I have, well, an understanding, you see, and -"

"Ms. Granger, surely you can't be serious," the Headmistress interrupted.

"I'm quite serious," Hermione replied.

"And don't call her -"

"Honestly, Ron?" Hermione asked.

"It was sitting right there, Hermione," Ron replied. "How'm I supposed to just let that go?" Hermione rolled her eyes, chuckling.

"Ron's attempt at humor notwithstanding, the three of us will continue to live together come September, whether that's here or at Hogwarts. That is non-negotiable."

The headmistress pinched the bridge of her nose and thought for a moment before replying. "Very well. We can arrange for quarters for the three of you. Mr. Creevey, however, will be remaining with the rest of his class in the fifth year dormitory."

"Yes, of course. And I would want the three of us to have the freedom to come and go from the castle, as well as unrestricted access to the Restricted Section in the library."

Headmistress McGonagall smiled. "I expected no less. Assuming I can accommodate you, would you be willing to attend Hogwarts next year, Ms. Granger?"

"Assuming you can accommodate us, Professor, the four of us will discuss it. If we all agree that it would be in our best interest, then yes, you can expect us on the train on the first of September."

Just then, for the first time since Hermione had returned from Australia, the doorbell rang. Magical folk not being accustomed to such things, it caused a bit of a pause in the conversation, until Harry was heard to say "Oh, hello Mrs. Weasley. Please, come in."

Headmistress McGonagall smiled broadly and wickedly. "As much as I would really enjoy staying, this sounds like a family matter. Thank you for your time, all of you. And, Ms. Granger? Do enjoy."


	7. Family

**Chapter 7: Family**

"Hermione, sweetheart, how are you?" Molly asked, sitting down with another hastily prepared pot of tea from Globo. "It's been ages, hasn't it?"

"I'm doing well, Molly," Hermione replied, taking Molly aback a moment. "Very well, in fact, considering. Ron and Harry have been such a help with that, taking my mind off of the horrible way things ended with my parents."

"Of that I have no doubt, dear. Oh, and who is this, then?"

"Molly, this is Dennis Creevey. His brother was Colin, one of the heroes at Hogwarts last May. Dennis, this is Molly Weasley, Ron's mum."

"A pleasure, ma'am," Dennis said, shaking her hand. Molly took a look at the boy with her patented look of maternal affection mingled with pity and concern.

"Oh, you poor dear," Molly said. "We're all proud of the sacrifice your brother made for our –"

"Please, Mrs. Weasley," Dennis said, cutting her off. "It wasn't a sacrifice. He was murdered by your kind at his own school. My father as well. It was a waste of life, is all. If you'll excuse me." Dennis rather pointedly got up from the couch and walked upstairs to his room, causing Molly's face to pucker in on itself slightly.

"Oh dear," Molly said, once the door had closed behind Dennis. "I didn't –"

"He still blames the wizarding world for the loss of his family," Harry said. "In time he'll most likely see that it was just a few people, but for now all he knows is that he has neither a brother nor a father, and his mother died a year before Colin started at Hogwarts. He's a rising fifth year; all he's known of our world is war and terror. I personally don't blame him one bit."

"Yes, well, of course," Molly fumbled, before settling into an uneasy silence. After a moment, she looked at her son, who seemed to wish he were anywhere else in the world.

"Ron, how have you been? Are you enjoying your time with your friends? You've been so quiet."

"Brilliant, mum," Ron said, fidgeting. "We've, er, settled down really quite nicely. It's a lovely neighborhood here; the neighbors are a bit nosy, but that's to be expected, I suppose, with the four of us living here and whatnot."

Molly gave the three a wry smirk. "Yes, I suppose people will come up with the silliest notions, won't they? For instance, did you know that your sister is under the impression that the three of you are sleeping together? Where would an idea like that enter her mind, do you think?"

Hermione took a breath, not wanting to broach that subject quite so quickly. "Molly," she asked, "would you like to see the garden? Globo's done such wonderful things with Muggle plants."

The women took a few minutes wandering through the garden; Hermione proudly showing off four different colors of roses, as well as lavender, pansies and dianthus. They also toured the gazebo, furnished with a porch swing, and the privacy screening Globo was able to create out of hedges. Molly was suitably impressed, and asked if she could borrow the younger woman's elf for her own garden sometime. After what seemed like a bit of détente, Hermione made her move.

"Molly, what is it, really? I'm touched that you've paid us a visit, but this doesn't seem to be a social call."

Molly's voice turned immediately sharp. "Ron needs to come home. I'll not have my boy living like this… this thing; whatever you call it. Some kind of threesome, I suppose. Or is it four?"

Hermione struggled to maintain composure. "First of all, leave Dennis out of this conversation. He's fifteen, for Merlin's sake, and he's been absolutely shattered by four years in the Wizarding world. And what three grown people do in the privacy of their own house is of no business to anyone, and I really don't need to explain myself to you. Neither does Ron. If he wants to stay here, which, given that he's an absolute wreck inside worrying about what the two of us are discussing, I'd imagine to be the case, he's welcome to. I love him, he loves me, and that's truly all that matters. And if you insist on being confrontational about this, I simply must ask you to leave. The boys are absolutely besides themselves with worry in there, and you're only making matters worse."

Molly paused for a moment. "How is it that you know how they're feeling, then?" she asked. "That's twice now that you've told me they're worried."

Hermione blushed slightly, looking downward. "We can't quite read each other's' minds," she said, "but we know how the other is feeling. I can read both Harry and Ron's emotions, and they can each read mine. This – arrangement, I suppose you can call it. This thing – it's as much by magic as it is by affection."

Molly's lips puckered, and her eyes became very severe. "I see," she said, simply. "So what you're telling me is that my son, my baby, is living in an absolutely abhorrent conjugal arrangement that would make Dionysus Himself blush, and there isn't a damned thing I can do about it. That is completely unacceptable, Ms. Granger. I am taking my son home now."

"Molly, please. Don't do this."

"Don't you 'Molly, please' me, dearie. I have stockings older than you. And if you so much as come near my boy again, so help me –"

"Right. That's plenty, Mum." Ron said, rushing into the garden, wand at his side. "I'm not going anywhere, and you're not helping."

"Ronald, I will not have a son of mine living in some kind of- of deviant arrangement like this. You are heading home and that's final."

Ron gripped his wand more tightly, and tears began forming in the bottom of his eyes. "I am home, Mum. Can't you see that? What did the clock say before you came over here? This thing we have – I can't quite explain it myself. But I know there are no two people in the world I love more than Hermione and Harry, and I'm staying right here."

Molly huffed quite loudly. "So that's it, then. You're buggering Harry at the same time? Or is it the other way around? This ends now, Ronald Weasley. Do you hear me? This ends now."

Ron raised his wand arm, causing Molly to flinch. "Mum, I'm serious. I'm not going back with you. Don't let this get any worse than it has already."

"Fine," Molly said. "I'll go. But this is not over, by any means. I don't know what this woman's put into your head, Ronald, but I'll not allow this to continue."

With that, Molly apparated away, leaving Hermione, Ron and a late-arriving Harry standing in the garden, mouths agape. Harry put an arm around his friend, and Hermione brought both boys in to a tight embrace. Each of them tried to find words to describe what had just occurred, but they were simply dumbfounded that the woman who'd treated them with such kindness for so long could turn on them so quickly.

After a moment or two, they walked back inside, to find Dennis standing in the dining room having watched the argument as well.

"Shit," he said. "That was – holy shit. I guess 'intense' would be the right word. Has she always been like that?"

"No," Hermione said. "I mean, she's always been protective of her children, but I've never seen that side of her at all. Well, she's no longer welcome here, that's for certain."

"Right," Dennis said. "So, this thing you have, it's really like that? I mean, if you don't mind my asking."

"Well," Hermione said, amusedly, "I don't think Harry and Ron are sleeping together, if that's what you're asking. But if they are, they haven't let me watch."

Ron ran his fingers up and down Harry's chest, before the two of them broke into snickers.

"Well, that's not what I was asking," Dennis said, a bit embarrassed. "It was more the closeness. I mean, Ron pulled a wand on his own mother because of what you lot have. That's just something, is all."

Hermione smiled and pulled Dennis to her fondly. "Yes, it is, isn't it?" she said, ruffling his hair. "And don't you think for a minute that just because our relationship is a bit different, that you're not just as much a part of this. We love you, Dennis. I love you. And don't you ever forget that."

Dennis smiled the first broad, unforced smile he'd had in months, and squeezed Hermione tightly, causing a small tear to well up in her eye.

"I know," he said, "and that's what makes it so brilliant."


	8. Being Begun

**Chapter 8: Being Begun**

Ron woke up early - well, 12:30 was early for him, at least - on a sunny Friday in late June. He walked downstairs to the kitchen, where Globo had a hot cup of tea and toast waiting for him. Harry and Dennis were in the sitting room, engrossed in a game of Lylat Wars on the Nintendo 64 Dennis had bought with the last of his earnings. He watched them play for a bit, but Muggle games were quite confusing to him, and he never really understood how a fox and a hare could pilot a spaceship without opposing thumbs, never mind save the galaxy.

He poured himself another cup of tea, and brought it into the dining room, after he had looked outside the patio doors to see Hermione sitting in the garden, reading. She was wearing a bikini top and a pair of shorts, and the sunlight highlighted her outstretched legs nicely, so his attention was held firm. Ron smiled to himself, thinking how nice it was that she was enjoying some sunshine on a lovely day. She'd had rather a rough time of things since the row with his mother. Her own mother had willingly abandoned her, and now the closest woman she had to a surrogate mother had tried to break up her household. Not yet nineteen, and now entirely motherless, Ron thought it no wonder that, house full or not, Hermione suddenly felt quite alone.

By late June, Hermione's mood had not improved. She seemed to enjoy taking a walk into town with the boys, and their occasional nights out on the town in London or Manchester were fun, but there was always a pall over her - rather like the perpetual rain clouds over the head of Martin the Mad Muggle's hopeless friend Jack. Jack was a sad character, and Ron thought it simply terrible that his beautiful Hermione would walk around as sad as Jack. So to see Hermione enjoying something, even something Ron found as tedious as reading, was a welcome sight, to be sure.

At least it was on the surface. Halfway through his cup of tea, Ron noticed that Hermione hadn't turned a single page the whole time he was watching her. Thinking her asleep, and not wanting her to get sunburnt, he walked out to the patio to wake her, only to find that she had been fully awake the whole time.

"Hermione?" he asked as he walked outside. "All right, then?"

"Yes, Ron," she replied, brusquely. "I'm fine. Just reading."

"Are you, then? Must be some small words; you haven't turned a page in ten minutes."

"What are you getting at?" she asked. "I told you I'm fine. Now if you don't mind, I'd -"

"You're not fine, love," Ron replied. "You haven't been for weeks. Harry and I can feel it, you know. I'm starting to get a bit worried about you."

"Well, don't be. Now then, if you're quite finished staring at my chest, I'd really like to get back to this book."

"Right, well... I guess I'll just leave you to it, then. I'll just-" he stammered, walking back towards the patio door.

"Yes, I suppose you'd better. Honestly..."

Throwing back the now tepid half-cup of tea, Ron walked into the sitting room and managed to get Harry and Dennis to pause their game.

"Is it me," he asked, "or is Hermione really not getting any better?"

"It's not you, mate," Harry replied. "She nearly bit our heads off this morning about something or other."

"I think it was the football," Dennis said. "We were watching Sky Sports, and they were talking about the match against Colombia tonight, and she just railed on about "bloody football taking over this country" and stormed out. But I think we could have been watching a documentary on penguins and got the same reaction."

"Right. Well, I think this has gone on long enough. I'm not going to let our Hermione turn into a Jack."

"Haven't you seen what she's wearing?" Dennis asked. "I don't think she's in any danger of becoming a Jack."

Harry smacked the back of Dennis's head, causing him to chuckle. "It's a Martin Miggs thing," he said. "What are you planning, Ron?"

"Dunno, exactly. Thought I'd ask McGonagall about it. They're kind of alike, you know, so she might have an idea or something."

"Good idea," Harry said. "Oh, and Dean and Seamus are popping over for the game tonight, too."

"Right. Is Luna coming, then?"

"No, they're off again," Harry replied. "Shame, really, but I guess the whole 'we were imprisoned together' thing can only go so far. Anyway, the match doesn't kick off until eight, so you've got time. When were you going to head up there?"

"Now, I guess," Ron said. "I reckon it'd be best just to apparate up to the gates and have Filch let me in, what?"

Professor McGonagall was only too happy to see Ron when he showed up at the castle, coming to the gate to greet him herself. They went up to the Headmistress's office, where Ron noticed that a plate of shortbread had replaced the ever-present lemon sherbets of the Dumbeldore regime.

"Please, help yourself, Mr. Weasley," Minerva said with a wry smile. Ron complied, eagerly.

"What can I do for you?"

Ron paused for a moment to swallow the piece of shortbread he'd just put in his mouth. "It's Hermione," he finally said. "I'm worried for her. Since she had that row with Mum, it's like she's not been herself, you know? Sits around moping all day - it's like I'm watching Harry in 5th year all over again."

"So it was quite a row, then?" Minerva asked.

"She wanted to break us up. I said I wasn't going anywhere, and then she thought Hermione'd done something to Harry and me to make us stay, and that's when it nearly came to wands. It was horrible."

"Well, that isn't like Molly. I was certain there would be a bit of discomfort in the conversation, but for it to nearly get violent? I'm sorry you three had to go through that."

"And the worst of it is that Hermione's not been this moody since, well, ever. Even back in school -"

"You are still 'in school,' Mr. Weasley. Or have the three of you changed your minds?"

"Right. Well, anyway, in sixth year when I was dating Lavender, she, well, let's just say she was too busy finding ways to make my life hell to have time for moping about. And we figured - that is, Harry and I figured - that if anyone'd know what to do for her, you would."

Minerva smiled, but was taken aback. "As flattered as I am by that, Mr. Weasley, why me?" she asked.

"You two are kind of alike, you know? Both mad about the books and the revision and so on. I always thought she'll probably be Headmistress here herself, someday, if she wants."

"Well, that's very kind of you to say. What I do know about Miss Granger suggests that she's happiest when she feels fulfilled - when she has a task and completes it. And yes, here she and I aren't, as you've suggested, terribly different. Perhaps I know just the thing for her..."

An hour and a half later, a rather disgruntled Hermione walked up to the third floor of the Training Ground Tower, and into the ruins of what had been the Hogwarts Library. Many sections of the ceiling had given way during the battle, knocking down about a third of the shelves, and a half-hearted attempt at putting things right had books in piles seemingly everywhere, some of them 45-50 books high, '_held together by charms and wishes,'_ Hermione thought. Madame Pince wandered around the stacks, disconsolate and muttering incoherently.

"Madame Pince?" Hermione called. "Madame Pince?"

"Yes? Yes, what is it?" Madame Pince finally answered after several attempts.

"Professor McGonagall asked if I would help you with the Library's restoration. It seems you've quite a job here - probably too big for one person, wouldn't you think?"

"Thousands of years!" Madame Pince exclaimed. "Thousands of years of history, and these... these brutes wanted to come in and tear the pages away with their charms. I will not have it, I tell you! I will not stand for it! These books will be _handled carefully_ whilst I am librarian here. We must have an account for each book that was here, and any book that needs repair must be repaired. If it takes me until the end of my days, Miss Granger, I will see this library set right again."

"Yes, well, that is an awfully big job, then, isn't it?" Hermione asked. "We should probably get started."

For the next forty-five minutes, Hermione levitated stone after stone away from crushed bookshelves, under Madame Pince's strict instructions. There were real tears shed as the condition of some of the books were discovered; most were fine, or would be, but some were absolutely irreparable. They were sorted into piles by condition, and when the two women had each book sorted, Madame Pince had an unexpected treat for Hermione.

"Miss Granger," she began. "I believe it appropriate to teach you one or two librarian spells that have been useful to me over the years. In my 25 years here I have not seen even one student who has a true love of the written word, but you don't seem to actively dislike books, and I do need the help, so I suppose this will have to do. And wipe that sarcastic look off of your face, young lady."

Hermione smirked, but said nothing as Madame Pince continued.

"Now, your wand will move quickly from side to side - always begin left to right. The base incantation is _'Digere_!' It takes time to - what was that?"

While Madame Pince was talking, Hermione had wandlessly and silently cast _Digere subjecti per scriberio_ on one of the large piles of undamaged books, which were now suspended four feet above the library floor, in eighteen subject groups, alphabetized by author.

"Oh, right," Hermione replied innocently. "The permutations of _Digere _were some of the first spells I mastered after learning I was a witch. Having a library of 500 books before age eleven will do that to a girl. And I've had a bit of a power boost since the battle, so, well, that's that, I suppose. Honestly, I thought you'd come up with something on your own, the way you were going on about it."

A red-faced Madame Pince turned on her heels and left the library, while Hermione set the books down gently. The spell was designed to place books onto shelves, and without shelves, there was a bit of a structural strain on the books as they weren't quite sure what to do. So, with a sigh, Hermione began to repair the damaged shelves one by one. She then began to repair the books in the 'slightly damaged' and 'oh, goodness me, I hope we can save this one' piles. Two hours later, she'd managed to repair even the books in the 'nothing to be done with this one, I'm afraid' pile, and sat for a moment before merging the piles of now like-new books, and working out an incantation that would sort each book in the library according to Standard Magical Arithmantic Recall Theory. _Accio_-ing a cataloging guide, she diagrammed the incantation, practiced it on a small pile of books, and then deemed herself ready.

Ten runes were inscribed on the library floor in a circle surrounding the 20,000 book pile. Hermione stood at the fourth rune (Social Sciences), took out her wand, cast the spell and spoke the incantation. Books began to fly up from the pile in an orderly manner, and with a hushed, but efficient disposition, they found their way onto the appropriate shelf. The last book found its way home after two minutes, and an exhausted Hermione dropped her wand to her side.

Madame Pince, who had come back to the library as Hermione was inscribing the runes, applauded from the doorway.

"Miss Granger, that was simply remarkable," she said. "I am so terribly sorry for having underestimated you. Would you permit me to bring your incantation to the Librarians' Circle? Chief Librarian Codex would be very interested - it could change Magical Library Science as we know it."

"With the appropriate citation, of course," Hermione replied. "Meanwhile, it looks like I missed one."

Sure enough, sitting on the floor near where the "This one isn't so bad, is it?" pile was, was a leather-bound vellum book about the size of a paperback. Hermione walked over, picked it up, and leafed through the pages.

"Recognize it?" she asked the librarian.

"Oh, that," Madame Pince answered. "Yes, I ran across that a year or two ago. It's been here for ages, but no one seems to have checked it out. Been meaning to have it translated, but for the life of me, I haven't the foggiest what language it's in. Have you ever seen any script like that, Miss Granger? Looks rather like bastardized cuneiform, wouldn't you say?"

Hermione opened the book again. She hadn't noticed anything strange about the lettering - it had appeared to her as standard Early Modern script, much as she had seen dozens of times from any number of library books. The title page clearly indicated the book's title as "The Way Home," written by someone named Likhi.

"You know, I haven't," Hermione replied. "But I do know of a mageolinguist in Tuffley who might be able to help. Perhaps I could take it back to Gloucester with me to show him?"

"The least I could do, Miss Granger," Madame Pince replied. She tapped the book twice with her wand, opened the front cover, and handed the newly-conjured checkout card to Hermione. As soon as Hermione had signed her name to the card and handed it to Madame Pince, she saw a blinding light, felt as though a bludger had hit her in the chest, and blacked out.

"Here, sit up, my dear," Madame Pince said, helping Hermione to a chair. "That cataloguing spell must have taken quite a bit out of you. I'll have one of the elves bring you something to eat. Callie?"

Two minutes later, Callie had delivered a meat pie and a pumpkin juice, which Hermione (who had neglected to eat while the Library needed sorting) took gratefully. Upon seeing Hermione with the small book, Callie gasped, and then smiled.

"It is being begun, I sees," she said, and popped away.

Hermione chuckled softly and shook her head as she tucked in to the snack.

* * *

"Hermione, you're back!" Ron said as Hermione appeared through the floo. "How was it, then? Get that library all sorted?"

Hermione had a huge grin, the first one any of her boys had seen in a while, as she approached Ron to give him a kiss. A long kiss, as it turned out. Then a long kiss for Harry, and ruffled hair and a kiss on top of the head for Dennis.

"Yep. All sorted," she replied. "And thank you, Ron. That was just what I needed."

"That's great," Ron said. "Fancy staying and watching the football with us?"

"Not tonight, love. I have a book to read." And with that, she sauntered out of the sitting room and up the stairs to their bedroom.

Seamus let out a low whistle as Hermione left, while Dean just shook his head, speechless.

"Long story, boys," Harry said, answering their obvious confusion. "Just, keep it to yourselves if you don't mind."

Upstairs, Hermione sat down at her writing desk with the small book, and a wicked smile appeared across her face.

"Oh, Globo?" she called in a sing-song voice.

Globo popped into the bedroom to find Hermione reading the book with the cover facing directly where he appeared. "Yes, Miss -" he began, and then gasped upon seeing what his mistress held.

"You sees," she said, with a twinkle in her eye. "It is being begun."


	9. Hero

**Chapter 9: Hero**

_In the verdant hills of Argveti, the land between the Kingdoms of Men, there lived a family named Khlisp'eri. They were Father, Mother and Daughters One through Four. Khlisp'eri came from Brinji, who came from Platini, who came from Spilendizi and on back through the Ages until the Time That Was Before. Khlisp'eri were masons, whose work in stone adorned temple and civic hall. Khlisp'eri stone work was prized from North to South, and the polished limestone, with images of Ages Past and…_

Hermione sighed. Ancient texts were always ponderous, but this was up there with some of the books on Binns's supplemental reading list. But, on she went, because if a mysterious book from long ago that no one else can read falls into your lap, it would be simply rude not to read it through. So read it through she did. And it was dreadful, at least by modern standards.

_Daughter Three was to marry in the Realm of Men. The Mennites were jealous of the Aghnish'qurebi, who did not need wands, and therefore there was a great deal of tension between the two races. Her beloved, Khenosno, thought this was short-sighted, and left his family and fortune to make his life with the Aghnish'qurebi. He learned masonry, and soon became renowned for his work. The Aghnish'qurebi were so taken by it that the Khlisp'eri family became rulers of the land, and their children and children's children. Khenoso's family, seeing the renown their son achieved in the land of the Aghnish'qurebi, sent Mennites and horsemen to him, to bolster his rule. Argveti became indistinguishable from the land of the Mennites, and the Aghnish'qurebi were second-class citizens in their own land._

_After a time, the Aghnish'qurebi wanted to rule their own land again, but the Khenoso (as the family was now known) was too powerful. A great uprising, led by Khedavi, resulted in the slaughter of many, and the Aghnish'qurebi were no more._

As Hermione read, the type became more and more modern. She looked towards the paper, and it, too, looked like any of the hundreds of Penguin paperbacks sitting on her bookshelves.

"Come to bed, Hermione," Ron said, not five pages from the end of the book. "Or at least turn that blasted light off."

"Just a minute, Ron. Honestly, it's just another few pages."

Hermione got to the end, and turned to the inside back cover. There, in ballpoint, was a note scribbled by someone who, if penmanship were any indication, was in a hurry to get the words out.

_This is a story of a people that for a time was beloved, feared and desired for their beauty, which is now reduced to the meanest rabble. This is a story of a civilization, once renowned for its technology, art, culture and democracy, now rendered illiterate. This is a story of loss and betrayal, of treachery and tears. This is a story of a hero whose love for these benighted folk will see them restored. Hear me, oh Hero Who Is To Come! Hear my cry through the ages! You have our magic; answer our plea!_

Hermione's shoulders slumped. She sighed, and knocked her head against her writing table twice.

"Didn't we leave this behind at Hogwarts?" she mused aloud. With another ponderous sigh, she put the book down, turned out the light, and crawled into bed between her boys.

"What was that about?" Ron asked.

"What was what about?"

"At the end there – what did we leave behind at Hogwarts?"

Hermione slid her head underneath her pillow and feigned sleep.

"Seriously, Hermione. That sounded important," Ron asked.

"What's more important than sleep right now?" Harry asked, sleepily.

"Do we really have to talk about this now?" Hermione answered.

Ron was insistent. "Yes. Some magical book landed on your lap, and by the looks of things, disturbed you. "

"Fine," Hermione said with a huff. She turned the lights on with a flick of her fingers and sat up.

"It looks like we have another quest. Just like in first year, second year, third year and sixth year. Another bloody quest to save – wait a minute."

"What?" Harry asked, worriedly.

"I just flicked on the lights without a wand. The book said I have 'their magic.' Merlin's pants, I'm a bloody house-elf."

Ron and Harry sat up, speechless. Then Ron began to chuckle, and Harry followed suit. Soon the both of them were laughing loudly, and Hermione didn't know whether to be offended or join in. She gave into the laughter, and soon the three of them were snuggled together, giggling, reveling in the absolute ridiculousness of the situation.

"No, wait," Hermione said, unable to control her giggles. "Watch this!"

Hermione snapped her fingers, and the clothes in the laundry bin snapped to, folded themselves, and found their way into their respective chests of drawers.

"Wicked," Ron remarked.

"Isn't it, though?" Hermione said. "I mean, I've just set feminism back about eighty years, with my superpower basically being housework, but still. It is rather wicked, isn't it?"

"So what's this quest?" Harry asked, as the giggles subsided. "That's usually my thing. 'Right, Harry. Sorry 'bout the shit life, mate, but you've got to go save the world now. Cheers!' Is yours like that, too?"

"Well, I didn't have the 'shit life,' as you so elegantly put it. I mean, being disowned by my parents is rather a blessing, now that I've had time to come to grips with it. And having you two has just made everything perfect, you know? But the rest of it seems to have gone pretty much like that. My guess is it's the elves that need saving, which is why they're all aghast whenever they see me. But other than that, and this odd book that's supposed to be allegorical, I reckon, I haven't much of an idea what I'm supposed to be questing."

"Well," Harry said, "In those situations I usually wait for Hermione to suss it all out. So, there you are, just wait for Hermione to suss it all out."

"Prat," Hermione said, smacking Harry repeatedly with a pillow.

"Hey now," Harry said, blocking her blows with his arms. "If you're the house-elf, aren't you supposed to be taking abuse, rather than dishing it out?"

"Really. Not. Helping," Hermione replied, punctuating each word with harder swats with the pillow. On the fourth one, the pillow exploded into a cloud of feathers, causing the three of them to break into further hysterics. Hermione collected herself, placed her arms on top of one another and nodded her head, and the pillow repaired itself, complete with a freshly-pressed pillowcase.

"Oh, this is useful," Hermione remarked. Then she looked wickedly at her boys, whose grins faded rapidly into thoughts of self-preservation. These thoughts were quickly rewarded as Hermione nodded firmly, and they found themselves stripped and magically bound.

"Yes, this will do nicely," she continued, removing her own nightclothes and climbing over Ron. "This will do nicely indeed."

Hermione's sleep was fitful, at best. She dreamt of a race of Elves who looked much closer to the Legolas of her girlhood fantasies than Dobby or Globo. She saw their civilization, which looked more like the Athens portrayed in historical novels than anything else. When she awoke – for good, this time – she swore she was finally going to cut down on her fantasy reading.

She tiptoed downstairs to the kitchen, where Globo was waiting for her, tea in hand.

"Mistress is knowing now," he said, placing the cup and saucer in front of her usual seat at the kitchen table.

"Well, I wouldn't say 'knowing,' per se," Hermione answered. "But some things are becoming clearer. For instance, would you like a hand cleaning up? Apparently I have quite the aptitude for such things."

"Dobby was seeing elf. Mistress is Hero Who Is To Come. Go there, Mistress. Go to them. Free us."

"Go where?" Hermione asked, oblivious to the strain behind the earnestness in Globo's voice. "Of course I'll free you, but –"

"We need you, Mistress," Globo said, collapsing. "I have told –"

And Globo was gone.

"Wait, Globo! You have told what? Dammit, this is no time for being obtuse! Globo!"

Hermione jumped to the ground where Globo lay, trying desperately to remember how she'd brought him back earlier. Three frantic, tiring minutes later, she slumped down next to the elf, realizing there was nothing she or anyone would be able to do, and she began to sob.

The commotion had woken the boys, who were slowly making their way downstairs. They saw her on the floor next to Globo and put their arms around her as she cried, Ron holding her head to his chest, and Harry making shushing sounds rubbing circles on her back. A few minutes later, Dennis, who'd apparently seen the three of them huddled around Globo, appeared in front of Hermione with a pair of khakis, a dress shirt and a necktie.

"Here, Hermione," he said, softly. "Give these to him. That way he'll go to the next life as a free elf."

Hermione smiled as best she could through her tears, stood up and gave Dennis a tight hug, followed by a kiss on the forehead. She then snapped her fingers, and the newly-shrunken clothes appeared on Globo's body.

"Thank you, Dennis, that was very thoughtful," she said, levitating the body and bringing it to the garden for burial, right next to his favorite yellow roses.


End file.
